That Secret Chord
by lyredenfers
Summary: Remember the lap harp in SoTL? Alanna wishes she didn't. Written for a Sean challenge at the Dove.


_That Secret Chord_

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Third Day of the New Term

This is the practise journal of Page Alan of Trebond, documenting the study of lap harp as required by Master Feodor Davesson. Master Davesson states that I have made no progress since last year and am quite possibly, "the most musically illiterate page who has ever had the audacity to call myself a shallow mockery of culture". Thus I am to keep a log of my practise times every day until I show some notable form of improvement. I explain this so that if someone is to _accidentally_ stumble across and _unintentionally_ read my writings, they understand that this is purely an educational exercise. It is in no way a diary, or a journal to share my innermost thoughts. I'll leave ladylike activities such as those to the esteemed squires Gareth and Raoul.

Today I practised for nine minutes.

**Nine minutes, Page Alan? I know some people who take longer to clean their teeth. With such lack of dedication, you will never master an instrument and certainly never please the ladies. Also, there is no shame in keeping a diary - show me a man who can express himself in words (failing music, Page) and I'll show you a man sought after by women. Davesson.**

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Fourth Day

You are very perceptive, Master. I practised while waiting for the privy -- my man-slave, Coram was inside cleaning his teeth.

If a diary is indeed attractive to the court ladies, I understand them even less than I thought. A knight is supposed to be _stoic_. Solid. Not someone who spouts sentimental prose. Combatants keep the court comfortable in their feather beds, of what use are pretty words?

Today I practised _The Old King's March_ for fourteen minutes before a string broke. I enlisted Coram's help when I could not replace it on my own. Coram's hands, however, are too big and got stuck inside the sound box. It took a great deal of saddle oil to separate man and instrument. Coram was not amused.

**ALAN, do NOT use saddle oil on the harp as it will destroy the finish on the wood. The Gods know that barring any abuse, the instruments that the court provides for teaching are hardly first rate. If you are having trouble, seek assistance from someone who knows a plucked from a bowed instrument. Not some blundering -- _man-slave???_ I was not aware that such things are permitted. Furthermore, your views on functional work versus art are troublesome. I despair of what they are teaching you and your classmates as a substitute for an "education". **

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Fifth Day 

I MEANT MANSERVANT, NOT SLAVE. That's embarrassing. I concede to your point on eloquence. Although I must state that I have no desire to impress women with my smooth speech.

I did not practise today; I worked on my archery instead. Such skills will one day save my life in battle. I don't think the enemy will pause mid-blow if I ask him to wait while I recite a poem of friendship and brotherly love.

**Trebond, I must confess that despite the vows of indifference I made (upon ten long years of teaching pages an art that they will never master), I find you particularly worrisome. I am, the Gods know, open to different lifestyle choices – you are perhaps familiar with my closest of friends, Master Rain. Having said this, you are very young to be having such blatant gender issues. Have you spoken with Duke Gareth on this subject? I think it would be for the best. **

The schooling that they give you pages is but one voice in the fugue that is life. Have you ever considered how dull the world would be without a song to break the monotony?

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Sixth Day

Gary, I saw you sneaking this book away from my things at dinner. It's not funny, so you can stop snickering at me and feigning innocence. The sly remarks about having "the talk" with your father are not subtle. You, Squire Gary, are not subtle.

I fear that music makes me ill. I will never be able to play the lap harp again. It's tragic.

**Though such an announcement of resignation on your part makes my heart sing with joy, I must – as a professional – instruct you to reconsider. You may hate me and my art as much as your tasteless little heart desires. In return, I will loathe you and your petty little friends, I promise you. But we are stuck together in this dysfunctional relationship, and shall be miserable together. As of now, consider yourself my man-slave. You _will_ learn to differentiate a jig from a march, and acquire some semblance of rhythm. **

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Seventh Day

Thirty-four minutes.

**I know a lie when I see one, Trebond. **

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Fifteenth Day

Deepest apologies, I lost my notebook last week.

**If you're going to insult my intelligence, at least be original**

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Sixteenth Day

A half hour.

**Good for you. I'm sure your father is proud.**

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Seventeenth Day

That was harsh.

**How is a humble court musician to know that you have father issues?**

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Eighteenth Day

Who here doesn't have father issues?

**Although this is perhaps the first valid point you have ever made Trebond (quickly, call a clerk to commemorate the occasion!), this is besides the point. This is to monitor your practise time – which by the way, you would make great strides in _if_ you were to spend half the time that you devote to being a neurotic little ponce.**

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Twentieth Day

**Page Alan?**

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Twenty-First Day

I quit.

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Twenty-Second Day

**How so?**

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Twenty-Fourth Day

I am holding your precious Tusaine maplewood harp hostage. If you do not speak to Duke Gareth on my behalf and banish me from your classes, I will start breaking sharpening levers. Page A. of T.

**LET'S NOT BE HASTY**

Who holds the power now, minstrel?

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Twenty-Fifth Day

**Thank the Great Mother, you are free to go. Report to Master Oakbridge for replacement hours in etiquette. **

Thank you!

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_Fenella_


End file.
